


This City (Everywhere I Go)

by KilljoyUnicorn



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Faerie!Pete, Faeries - Freeform, Fairy/Nonhuman Path, M/M, punk!pete, shy!Mikey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilljoyUnicorn/pseuds/KilljoyUnicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Pete is a rebellious punk faerie who just wants to piss of the authorities, and Mikey is a shy human who is only at The Basement because his friend Frank dragged him here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This City (Everywhere I Go)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “You might want to get out ot the city tonight.”  
> “Why?”  
> “I’m planning to burn it to the ground.”
> 
> See if you can recognize: ...Hayley Williams! ...Dallon Weekes! ...Ryan Ross! ...Patrick Stump! ....Bob Bryar! ...Jon Walker! And... Victoria Asher!

     Mikey took a tentative sip of his drink, glancing around the club. The strobe lights were giving him a headache, and Frank wasn’t doing much to alleviate it, bouncing on the tips of his toes and grinning so hard he looked slightly deranged.  
     “Isn’t this great?” He yelled over the music, nudging Mikey’s arm and pointing to where some orange-haired faerie girl was screaming into the microphone, backed up by an impossibly tall bassist, a pretty guitarist with swirling, colorful makeup, and a tiny blond guy who was treating his drumkit like it had personally offended him. Mikey had already forgotten the name of the band, but, judging by how The Basement was filled with what seemed like most of the city’s punk kids, they must have been pretty decent. He nodded politely, pushing up his glasses and wishing he was back at his apartment, where he had his cat and his books and his records, and it was always quiet.  
    “Hey!” Frank was tugging at Mikey’s arm again. “Do you mind if I ditch you for the front? Just for a couple songs, promise.” He was only slurring his words a little, and he wouldn’t stop bouncing, so Mikey nodded and gave a half-hearted little wave.  
     “Awesome!” Frank was already barrelling towards the front of the club, where a heaving pit had formed around a couple of half-drunk fae-punks, their natural magnetism unconsciously leading the other revelers in their direction. Up on stage, the impossibly energetic singer was shouting the lyrics to something fast and angry, her hair sticking to her sweaty face. It was changing colors as she sang, Mikey realized, from red to blue to purple to half-orange, half-pink.  
     Mikey shifted uncomfortably, setting his drink back down on the bar. The bartender, a burly blond guy with a scowl and a lip ring, narrowed his eyes at him, and Mikey quickly turned and pushed his way towards the exit. He needed a smoke.

     Outside, it was a little quieter. Laughter and music spilled out of the open club door, but the street was dark and empty. Mikey breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back against the brick wall and fumbling in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. This was his last pack, he remembered as he dug out his lighter. He’d have to get more tomorrow morning, before work- no, tomorrow was his day off. Afternoon, then. Carefully lighting a cigarette, he sighed, bringing it up to his lips and inhaling deeply.  
     “Hey, man, can I get a light?”  
     Mikey almost choked, stumbling backwards and coughing up smoke as he braced himself against the wall. “Who- what-?”  
     “Sorry, dude!” A small figure stepped into the circle of light provided by the club’s neon lights. He grinned at Mikey apologetically, waiting for him to recover.  
     Mikey straightened up, looking at the ground and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He felt a blush creeping up his face.  
     The guy laughed, high and unabashed, and slumped against the wall next to Mikey. “Sorry. I’m quiet.”  
     Mikey risked glancing over at him. The guy was short, much shorter than Mikey, and he sort of… lounged, like a cat, which meant he must be at least part faerie. His eyes were wide and dark, the same shade as his hair, and he was grinning, showing off sharp teeth that were so white they nearly glowed in the dark.  
     He was also sort of really hot.  
     Mikey looked away and cleared his throat. “Um. No problem.”  
     “Cool.” The faerie held out his hand. “I’m Pete.  
      Mikey shook his hand, trying hard not to blush again. “Mikey.”  
     Pete’s hand was warm and rough and almost static, and he held onto Mikey’s hand a beat longer than absolutely necessary, dropping it with a smile with too much teeth.  
     “So hey, could you lend me a light?”  
     “Y-yeah, sure.” Mikey handed over his lighter.  
     Pete took it, sliding a cigarette out of the waistband of his jeans and lighting it with a single, graceful movement. He took a drag, exhaling smoke rings into the night.  
     Mikey raised his own cigarette back to his lips, proud of how little his fingers shook. He snuck another glance over at Pete. Dark tattoos spiraled down his arms, quivering and twisting across olive skin in the way that all faerie tattoos did. They always made Mikey dizzy.  
     “So.” Pete stuffed his hands in his pockets, turning his head and grinning around his cigarette. “What brings you to The Basement this fine evening, Mikey?”  
     “Oh, um. My friend wanted to see one of the bands that’s playing tonight.”  
     “Misery Business, right?”  
     Mikey blinked. “Uh, yeah. I think.”  
     “Dude, they’re great.” Pete shot Mikey another smile and stubbed out his cigarette against the wall. “I gotta get going. Thanks for the light.”  
     Mikey just nodded, staying frozen against the wall as Pete straightened up and turned towards the club entrance, before pausing and glancing over his shoulder.

     “You might want to get out of the city tonight.”  
     Mikey stared. “Why?”  
     Pete stepped closer, a sudden grin dark and knowing in the glow of the club lights, and stretched up just enough so that his mouth was close to Mikey’s ear.  
     “Because I’m going to burn it to the ground, Mikey Way.”

 

Mikey stood there for such a long time, staring in the direction the faerie had gone, that he almost didn’t realize he had never told Pete his last name.

 

     When Mikey slid back into the club, eyes adjusting to the flashing lights and the pounding of the bassline in his throat, Frank was already waiting for him at the bar.  
     “Dude, where’d you go?” He shook his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes, leaning against the bar and looking no less enthusiastic than he had before. “Misery Business just went off. You want to leave now?”  
     “Nah, let’s stick around.” Mikey had this weird energy spiking behind his eyes, restless and jittery. He wanted to be surrounded by a crowd, to be carried along by a voiceless roar until he was as limp as a rag doll, wrung out and blissfully exhausted. He didn’t know why.  
     Frank shrugged and pushed off the bar, shoving his way through the scene kids clustered around it. “Sure, ok. Let’s go to the front, though. We’ve got a couple of minutes before the last band goes on.”  
     Mikey obediently followed, ducking around knots of humans and faeries. Nightclubs were one of the few places in the city that the two species were allowed to mix, so he could see a lot of inter-group fraternization going on.  
     A pretty fae girl grinned at him, a silvery lightning bolt cutting a jagged line across her face and her bobbed hair coming to a sleek point underneath her chin. Her dark eyes glinted like a knife, a promise. Mikey kept walking.  
     At the front of the club, Frank was waiting, and the house lights were going down. Mikey slid into place beside him as the crowd surged back in, filling up every inch of empty space.  
     “This band is supposed to be great!” Frank called over the noise around them. “I’ve heard their frontman is fae, and apparently, he’s completely insa-”  
     Frank was cut off by the roar of the crowd. The band had run on to the stage and immediately launched into their first song, and Mikey was suddenly staggering and fighting to stay upright in a sea of screaming, writhing bodies.  
     The song was loud, all wailing guitar and pounding bass line. Mikey could barely hear the vocals as he was pushed and pulled by the crowd, but he was able to make out something about a girl and a window ledge and a metaphor about the color blue. The lyrics almost didn’t fit with the music- they were too precise, too dramatic.  
     The song ended with a crash of drums, and the crowd screamed as the singer stalked to the front of the stage, grinning out at people pressed up tight against the barrier and each other. Mikey lost sight of the stage as a guy with a blue mohawk passed in front of him, and when he saw the singer, his breath caught in his throat.  
     It was Pete.

  
     He looked the same as he had outside- jeans, white t-shirt, denim vest. But his eyes were different now, manic- they glittered in the stage lights, dark and dancing. Fae magic practically poured off him- Mikey could almost see it leaking out of his skin, exhaled into the crowd with every breath.  
     Mikey knew all about magic, of course. Everyone did. It wasn’t really magic, just an energy, subtle little things that faeries did better than humans, a sort of magnetic power that drew people to them. But Mikey had never met any fae more captivating than Pete- one motion of his hand, and the entire crowd fell eagerly silent, straining to catch any word he spoke. Mikey wondered vaguely how much of that had to do with Pete’s sweaty skin and laughing mouth, and how much had to do with the blood in his veins.  
     “Hey, what’s up? How’s everybody doing tonight?” There was a responsive scream, and Pete smirked. Behind him, the rest of the band almost vibrated, thrumming with the frenzied energy that pervaded the entire room. “We are What A Catch, and not to be cliche, but we are here to rock your faces off.”  
     The scream that went up this time was even louder. Mikey winced, but didn’t take his eyes off of Pete.  
     “That song you just heard was called, “Peroxide Princess.’” Pete slipped the microphone off the stand and strolled up to the front of the stage, leaning down and sweeping his gaze across the first few rows of shining faces until he got to Mikey’s. He winked, a gesture so small that it could have been anything if you weren’t looking hard enough, and then straightened up, stalking to the other side of the stage, left and right and back again, leaving humming anticipation in his wake.  
     “So before we get to our next song, which I’m sure you guys are just dying to hear-” Pete stopped to let the crowd scream, then continued, still prowling, cat-like, “I’m gonna ask you guys a few questions first, how does that sound?”  
     The shout that went up was voiceless, but there was a vague sense of affirmation buried in its noise. Pete grinned. Mikey held his breath.  
     “First question: How many faeries do we have out here tonight?”  
     This time, there was a flood of yelled numbers. Pete cupped one hand over his ear. “What’s that? A lot?” He wrapped the other hand around his microphone stand, turning to look back at his bassist. “Approximately a lot, right, Jon?”  
     Jon just smiled and shrugged, scratching at his scruffy brown beard. He seemed the calmest of the four on stage, the only human- the drummer, guitarist, and Pete all had the same look in their eyes, like they were so hopped up on adrenaline and magic and music that they couldn’t see straight.  
     “So, those of you fine people who are fae, how do you like the current system of separation from humans?”  
     Another wordless scream, with an undercurrent of anger. Mikey tensed. This was going in a direction he hadn’t expected. At all.  
     “How do you feel about being locked up like diseased animals?”  
     Pure, violent noise.  
     Mikey closed his eyes and blinked them open again. He could feel people’s elbows digging into his ribs, and a vague, dull knot of panic forming in his chest.  
     Pete’s eyes were blazing now, dark fire burning holes into the crowd. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively calm. “I’m tired of being quarantined, and I bet a lot of you feel the same way. So here’s the deal. I’m going to sing the next song, and my band is going to play, and you guys are going to jump so high you jump right out of this place and into the streets, and spread some goddamn _havoc_ in our good city tonight. How does that sound, good people of The Basement?”  
     The crowd roared and spat and surged forwards, sending Mikey stumbling up against others and back again, ears ringing with the fury of a hundred people. The band launched into a song, and Pete screamed, and the noise drilled through Mikey’s ears and into his brain, waves of black static. He was dimly aware of the people around him turning, pushing towards the exit, but seemed far away, like it was happening to someone else. He’d lost sight of Frank, and he remembered, just then, to panic. And then an elbow knocked into his head, hard, and he couldn’t panic anymore, or think at all.

     Mikey came to lying on The Basement’s dirty floor, a feeling like a hangover in the back of his mind and a taste of blood in his mouth. Oh, and- he blinked a few times, just to be sure- a concerned-looking Pete hovering over him.  
     “Mikey Way!” Pete grinned, although it looked a little duller than before, an edge of exhaustion behind his voice. “How you feeling?”  
     Mikey sat up slowly, touching the side of his head with cautious fingers. He felt sore, but not worryingly so. “I’m fine.”  
     “Good to hear, good to hear.” Pete held out a hand. Mikey took it, after a few seconds, and pulled himself to his feet, unsteady and staggering a few steps. Pete gripped his arm, frowning. “You should probably go to the hospital or something. That was a pretty hard hit you took, not to mention you nearly got trampled before I could get off the stage.”  
     “You… you got off the stage?” There was a faint ringing in Mikey’s ears, low and humming, and he almost didn’t hear Pete’s reply.  
     “Of course I did.” That tired smile again. “I can’t have you being trampled now, can I? Friends don’t let friends die because of mob violence. Especially if they kinda incited the mob violence.”  
     “We’re friends?”  
     “We are now!” Pete confirmed cheerily, slinging one arm around Mikey’s shoulders. His eyes brightened a little, and Mikey could feel the unfamiliar prickle of power along his skin. “I’ll walk you home, Mikey Way. It’s a bad night to be alone around here.”  
     Mikey opened his mouth to- agree? protest? say something- but Pete was already steering him across the abandoned room, one hand flat across the back of his neck. Mikey felt dizzy in a way he didn’t think had anything to do with hitting his head.  
     Pete led him through the entranceway and out the door. Outside, the night was warm. The tiny, glowing moths that usually appeared around faerie neighborhoods swarmed around streetlights, buzzing softly. The sidewalks were deserted.  
     “Can you hear that, Mikey Way?” Pete asked conversationally. He was gazing off down the street.  
     Mikey listened. In the distance, there was a vague roar, sort of like the footsteps of some monstrous army, interspersed with screams and the occasional high-pitched fit of laughter, the sound of shouting, of glass breaking.  
     “Yeah?”  
     Pete smiled, and it was half beautiful, half terrifying. “I did that.”  
     “What are they doing?”  
     Pete grinned again, sharp and satisfied, like the Cheshire Cat, and leaned in closer. “Sticking it to the Man, Mikey Way. They’re angry, and I’m angry, and now?” His eyes were luminous in the dusky light. “Now we have a revolution.”  
     “What...” Mikey could feel Pete’s breath warm on his collarbone. “What are they angry about?” _What are you angry about?_  
     “The segregation, obviously. The politicians. The look in people’s eyes when they pass us on the street.” Pete looked serious now. “You’re not fae. You don’t know, Mikey. It’s gotten worse, these past few years. We need something to believe in.”  
     Mikey raised one eyebrow. “And.. you’re going to be the one they believe in?”  
     Pete stepped back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and letting out a soft laugh. “I’m sure as hell going to try. I mean, why not? I’m just a guy in a punk band. The unlikely hero, yeah?”  
      They kept walking, the crooked brick apartments of the Fey Quarter giving way to the cleaner doorways of Mikey’s neighborhood. Around them, the night breathed, exhaling smog and fever dreams into the air.

     Mikey stopped at his front stoop, suddenly wondering what he should say. “This is my place.”  
     “Ah.” Pete was looking away, gazing down the street. His lip caught on his teeth, absent-minded, and Mikey was very aware of the warm air on his face, the half-darkness under the streetlights. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the pavement.  
     “Well, I guess I should say goodnight, then.” Pete smiled, nodding at Mikey’s building. “Hey, you don’t have work tomorrow. We should hang out.”  
     “How do you know I don’t have work tomorrow?”  
     Pete closed his eyes and laughed, and Mikey studied the shifting lines of tattoos on his neck and waited.  
     “You’re _cute_ ,” Pete said finally, flashing that sharp smile. “I’ll pick you up at six.”  
     He grabbed Mikey’s hand and kissed his palm, fast as a lighting strike, and took off down the street, calling out behind him, “Sweet dreams, Mikey Way!”  
     Mikey closed his hand, as if he could capture the kiss between his fingers, and opened the door. He went up the stairs, slipping out his phone when it started ringing, and answered without bothering to look at the number.  
     “Hey, Frank. Yeah, I’m totally fine, I got home alright. How about you? Yeah, I know you were worried, yeah, tell Gerard I said hi, we can talk tomorrow if you want…”

 

     Pete smiled to himself, and thought of skinny wrists and a stutter, wide eyes behind smudged glasses.  
     The streets pulsed, alive and beckoning, and he turned to address his people, the fae thronging between buildings and handing off of window ledges, louder than thunder and twice as angry.  
“Burn it all.”

     Across the street, windows smashed. A girl with gumball-bright hair, shifting slowly through the rainbow, leaned against a brick wall like an alleycat, a microphone cord still wrapped around her waist. She laughed as the crowd thrashed and bled around her, the city of beautiful ruins.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry for my (unfairly long) hiatus, but I am back! Chapter 3 of YCRAWMAYW (wow, that is a really weird looking acronym) will be up soon. Cross my heart.
> 
> But hey! Look at this thing! It's inspired by the prompt I put in the first notes, as well as this (http://40.media.tumblr.com/a00a68eb1575671bc486e369f0e18018/tumblr_mv8m0fQF4H1sxhowpo1_1280.jpg) edit of Pete. Be still, my heart. 
> 
> The title is a combination of a Patrick Stump song and a New Politics song of the same names, respectively. The Basement's name is from the Cobra Starship song It's Warmer In The Basement.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! If you have any comments, questions, concerns, criticism, or virtual puppies, you can leave those in the comments.


End file.
